" Keeping the breach open "

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Keeping the breach open

22 July 2024

Peregrine falcon in the distance in the heat haze. As is often the case in this kind of situation, I draw too big. It is small, too small, in the eyepiece of my spotting scope. However, I paint it large on my sheet of thirty by forty centimeters. The usual consequence is that I get annoyed not to see all the details on my falcon that I would like to put there. It’s simple though, I don’t see them, that’s all. He is too far away, too blurry, but my perception makes me believe that all I see is him. The great contrasts are there, the intense light of this April day can be seen in the image. I won’t have the details, I will have the light. That is fine by me. Leaving a little room for the overall vision, without getting lost in the flourishes that weigh down the painting.

However, I would have liked to get closer, to slip even further between the rocks and the folds of this coastal terrain. Capturing the corners of the beak, the organization of the feathers on the wings, the fine nuances on the head to give him all his character. This bird is not a year old and I hope he is still a little naive. I would have liked to move forward, a little more, without disturbing him, always a little more and then what? This fateful moment will come, so criticized for having come too close. That extra step that will make him fly away. Not this time. When my eye returns from the paper to the telescope, he is no longer there, nor in the sky or the surrounding area.

Vanished.

Of me, he probably only saw the top of my head and the telescope sticking out just enough to let me observe him. No agitation, no fear, no special attention towards me. Ideal situation of the animal which goes about its life and which leaves not out of fear, but by choice. So why want to ruin that by getting ever closer? Method error. Letting nature come, that’s the best way. This will always lead to more beautiful observations without the regret of having wasted a great opportunity or of having disturbed the animal. But proximity matters, without a doubt. You can have the most powerful zoom, it will never replace close observation with binoculars or, the ultimate Holy Grail, with the naked eye.

I was struck by this evidence about ten years ago, somewhere in the north of France, lying on the ground, head in space, above vertical coastal cliffs watching the sweep of Fulmars and Kittiwakes. Suddenly, a general agitation that a Peregrine Falcon crosses at full speed against the sea background to land just below me. No need for binoculars, I can see every details with my eyes and it’s striking. It grabbed me instantly. The power of observing without filter, without eyepiece, lens, glass or screen. Just direct, natural observation.

Well that changes everything.

A hardened naturalist, how many hours have I spent behind my binoculars, my telescope, observing, saving myself the effort of a tedious approach and the risk of disturbing the animal? But yet, there is something irreplaceable about proximity. We are already touched when a bird approaches us in our garden, or better when it comes to eat from our hand, a Great Tit, a Robin. So imagine a falcon, an eagle. I think of these naturalists, these photographers a few meters from bears, wolves, whales. I think of these Paleolithic artists a few steps from Aurochs and Tarpans.

I will never stop talking about this link to reality, which I hope as direct as possible, engaging our senses as much as possible. Far from intellectualising, this contact opens an involuntary breach which invades, overwhelms and shatters the framework of our certainties. Captured by the moment, the surprise and the beauty, things gain perspective. When this happens to us, let’s be sure not to close this breach too quickly, there is a lot to gain from it, to learn from it.

Adrien

Peregrine falcon

Field watercolor

31 x 41 cm

norway

watercolor

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